


Wide of the Mark

by Black_Eyed_Angels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Eyed_Angels/pseuds/Black_Eyed_Angels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes moves from London to the country, much to his distaste. Being away from the chaos and crime of London displeases him, but he finds friendship in a man who lives nearby, John Watson. Although John's insistent cousin, Irene Adler, causes trouble where she can, Sherlock and John escape from their boring upper-class lives to make things more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is heavily influenced by Jane Austen and will have a few plot points from Pride and Prejudice. I hope you enjoy, I've never written anything from this era before, but I do watch a lot of Jane Austen shows/movies and other shows of that style, so I like to think I have learned a fair amount.
> 
> I hope you won't judge too harshly from the first chapter, as this is mainly to introduce you to the main characters.

He was a tall, handsome man. He had what all women were looking for: good looks, a clever mind and a large fortune. He held himself with grace and always wore the best clothes, but what he had in these, he lacked in manners, and often, in empathy. He did not care for social standards and what was proper, but with a lot of fierce encouragement from his older brother, he acted as if he did hold these things in some regard. This man, sitting by the window in his black armchair, fiddling with his violin, was Sherlock Holmes.  
Sherlock Holmes was being forced out of his home. His brother had purchased a property in the country, and had decided that he and Sherlock were to move there, in order to ‘rid their lungs of the London air’. It was also some kind of endeavour for Sherlock to ‘socialize and meet new people’. Sherlock had agreed to go, only because he knew there was no getting out of it. Sherlock knew he would have no hope to make new acquaintances, and he really didn’t mind this fact. He was moving to the country with his brother Mycroft to prove to him that he could try to change Sherlock, but it would never work. He would always be the unsociable, strange man who often made people uncomfortable, and he would never find a woman who interested him enough to marry.  
-  
John Watson and his sister Harriet had lived in Knightly Estate with their parents since they were born. Only for the last year had their cousin, Irene Adler, been staying with them since her father had passed away, and the Watsons were her next of kin. Over the past few weeks, Mrs Watson had been pestering Irene to find a husband, as Harriet was already married and Irene was already eighteen years old. It was crucial for Irene to find a husband as soon as possible, as she had no inheritance, so she needed to wed a man with a fortune. She had had several suitors, but they all left disappointed, as Irene was a very stubborn and opinionated young woman, which often drove men away.  
John Watson had recently been introduced to a young woman named Mary Morstan. She had a few suitors, but Mrs Watson pushed John to see her as frequently as possible, as she was a kind woman with a good heart.  
-  
“Have you heard?” Harriet entered the dining room.  
“Heard what?” asked Mrs Watson.  
“A Mr Holmes has purchased Crowley Estate. He’s just moved in with his brother.”  
“How’s that Irene? Two brothers!” Mrs Watson beamed in Irene’s direction.  
Irene gave a dismissive nod and went back to her breakfast.  
“How old are they?” Mrs Watson inquired.  
“I think the youngest is one and twenty.”  
“How do you know all this?” John asked, perplexed by his sister’s knowledge of two men who had only just arrived that very same day.  
“Philip went over to meet them this morning.”  
Philip was Harriet’s husband of four years. He liked to be in the loop of things and often stuck his nose in other people’s business; not that John ever commented on it.  
“Well, he’ll have to introduce us.” Mrs Watson smiled, and Irene groaned quietly.  
It were times like these that John was extremely glad that he wasn’t a woman and didn’t have to worry so much about getting married. He was five and twenty years old, but if he wanted to, he could be a bachelor all his life, although his mother disapproved of this notion.  
“You should meet them too John, it’ll be good for you to have some friends you can go riding and shooting with.” Mrs Watson suggested.  
“Indeed.” John replied, hoping to put the matter at rest for the time being.  
-  
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big fuss about your armchair Sherlock; there are plenty of other seats already here.” Mycroft said, annoyed.  
“It was my favourite armchair. It was very comfortable and good for thinking in. We should have brought it with us on the carriage.” Sherlock collapsed on the new house’s drawing room sofa childishly.  
“What a ridiculous notion.” Mycroft smirked at his brother’s stupidity.  
“I also don’t understand why that Anderson fellow felt the need to come and talk to us. Couldn’t he see we were busy? Can’t we just be left in peace? This is the country; I thought it was meant to be more peaceful than in town.”  
“It is indeed the country, but people who live in the country like to know everybody, and you shall like to know them also.”  
Sherlock snorted. “I should not. How boring people are, with their ‘How do you do’ and ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you’.”  
“That is normal civility, which I have talked to you about, so you shall also be civil.” Mycroft spoke in his warning tone.  
-  
The Holmes brothers followed Mr Anderson to Knightly Estate on horseback. They were going to be introduced to the Watsons, and their niece Irene Adler. They got off their horses and Anderson tapped the door knocker three times before a servant led them inside. They were led to Knightly Estate’s drawing room, where the Watsons were situated.  
“Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, this is Mrs Watson,” a plump woman with blonde curls gave an excited nod. “Mr Watson,” a short man with a moustache gave a gruff nod. “John,” a young, short man with sandy hair smiled and nodded. “my wife, Harriet,” a short, light brown haired woman gave a quick mouth twitch in the Holmes’ direction. “and Miss Irene Adler,” A young woman with dark brown hair curtseyed nervously. “and this is Mycroft Holmes,” Mr Anderson gestured to Mycroft, who stood tall and proud with his cane. “and his younger brother, Sherlock.” Sherlock gave a curt nod. Sherlock and Mycroft were invited to stay for luncheon, much to Sherlock’s dismay. During lunch, Mrs Watson asked most of the questions, and Sherlock left it to Mycroft to do most of the answering. After luncheon, they gathered in the drawing room for coffee; Sherlock sitting down on the sofa, shortly after being joined by John, and then Irene on the far left.  
“Mr Holmes,” John started. “do you enjoy riding?”  
“It is tolerable.” Sherlock answered without moving his gaze.  
“Shooting?” John offered.  
“I am not very good at it.” Sherlock took a quick sip of his coffee.  
“What do you enjoy doing?”  
“Solving crimes.” Sherlock answered shortly.  
“Solving crimes? Do you mean to say that you are a detective?” John asked, suddenly intrigued.  
Irene moved closer to listen in to the conversation.  
“Of sorts. I am not officially a detective. What I mean to say is that I do not work for the police, but I do assist them.”  
“What do you mean?” Irene asked.  
John turned to look at her, surprised at her interest.  
“I am a consulting detective.”  
“I’ve never heard of it.” Irene said.  
“You wouldn’t have. I am the only one. I assist Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard with many of his cases. The police are more often than not incapable of solving the crimes themselves.”  
“So you do this work for them without payment?” Irene asked.  
“Oh yes. I don’t need any more money, and the results are enough of a reward for me.”  
“You are quite intriguing.” John remarked.  
“Well…” Sherlock started. “You could come to a case some time, if you please.”  
Irene looked wide-eyed and disappointed that she wasn’t offered this excursion.  
“I don’t know if that would be very appropriate.” John remarked. “Not to mention what my mother would think of me attending a crime scene by choice.”  
“Suit yourself.” Sherlock took a long sip from his coffee, and set down the empty cup, getting up from his seat to speak to his brother. “Mycroft,” he mumbled in his brother’s ear. “I’ve had quite enough talk for one night, I should like to go now.”  
“Quite.” Mycroft replied quietly to Sherlock, before clearing his throat. “Thank you for a wonderful evening; it was a pleasure to meet you all. I’m afraid we must be off, but I’m sure we will see each other again in no time at all.”  
“The pleasure was ours; you are welcome back any time.” Mrs Watson smiled widely.  
Sherlock nodded in John and Irene’s direction before turning to leave.  
“That was tedious.” Sherlock remarked as he and Mycroft were on the driveway.  
“Do try to give them a chance, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied. “we won’t find any better company.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the first chapter, John called Sherlock by his first name, which was improper. I did actually notice this error, but not until after publishing. But I then got a comment from someone pointing it out so I went back and changed it as it was bothering me a lot, so from now on they will be addressed the proper way i.e. Mr Holmes and Mr Watson. It is good to know that I have readers who also know about this time period :)
> 
> I do try to do longer chapters, but with no luck.  
> This chapter includes another plot point from Pride and Prejudice. I think there will be just one more, then the rest of the plot points will be either by me, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss (as I will be referencing a case)

The Watsons were sat around the dining table the next morning and of course, Mrs Watson had brought up the subject of the Holmes’.  
“He’s a detective!” Irene beamed.  
Mrs Watson gave her a questioning look. “Gentlemen don’t work, dear.”  
“It’s not his job really. He assists the police out of his own good will. I think it’s rather admirable.”  
John sighed to himself. Of course Irene had to bring it up. Sometimes John feared she had little tact. Mrs Watson would consider Mr Holmes’ ‘hobby’ to be ungentlemanly, and possibly even vulgar, if she ever found out anything about him being in the presence of corpses.  
“Please excuse me; I’m going to go for a walk. I might see if Miss Mary is home.” John stood up from his seat.  
John fetched his hat and left.  
-  
Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa, his hair messy and his jacket askew.  
“Don’t lounge about, Sherlock; it’s improper.” Mycroft ordered.   
“It is so dull here; I want to go back to London.” Sherlock demanded.  
“I think you need some time away from death and crime; it can’t be good for health to be surrounding yourself in it constantly.”  
“But I enjoy being surrounded by death and crime.”  
Sherlock missed the thrill of a new case; the searching for new clues and the puzzle solving. It stimulated his mind and gave him use. In the country he felt absolutely pointless.  
-  
One of the Morstans’ servants let John inside, and led him to the drawing room.  
“Mr Watson to see Miss Mary.” The servant reported.  
“Mr Watson!” Miss Mary chimed. “It is a delight to see you again.”  
“Likewise.” John replied. “Would you care to join me for a walk?”  
“Certainly; I will just change into my walking clothes.”  
Mary left the drawing room. In her absence, John chatted to Mrs Morstan, who informed him about an upcoming ball.  
“Oh yes, you will come, won’t you?” Mary asked as she re-entered the room.  
John turned to her. “Of course; it should be an enjoyable event, I imagine.”  
-  
Eventually Sherlock decided that he couldn’t lounge about all day, so he straightened out his clothes, put on his hat and went out for a walk. He didn’t tell Mycroft in case he wanted to come along; he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about mannerisms and such. He walked along the road for about twenty minutes when he saw two figures approaching him. He kept his head down and kept walking hoping he’d be left in peace.  
“Mr Holmes,”  
Sherlock looked up. It was John Watson with a female companion.  
“Good morning, Mr Watson.” Sherlock gave a slight attempt at a smile.  
“Mr Holmes, this is Miss Mary Morstan.” Mr Watson gestured toward his blonde companion, who curtseyed.  
Sherlock nodded.  
“Are you walking anywhere in particular?” Mr Watson asked.  
“No, just getting some fresh air.” Sherlock explained. “How about you?” he added, as he thought of his brother’s nagging to be ‘polite’.  
“Quite the same really; by all means, walk with us.” Mr Watson offered.  
Sherlock frowned. “I am sorry, but I must refuse; I don’t think I would be very good company.”  
“Maybe some other time.”  
“Have you heard about the ball tomorrow?” Miss Mary added.  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly.  
“Yes, you will come, won’t you? It would probably be considered snobbish not to come.” John smirked.  
Clever move. Sherlock thought. John Watson had trapped him, so if he refused the offer he would be considered a snob. He had no choice in the matter. “Alright then.”  
“I’ll pick you up on the way.” Mr Watson smiled. “Good day.”   
-  
“We’re going to a ball tomorrow.” Sherlock announced when he arrived back home.  
Mycroft looked up from his paper. “Splendid. You remember how to dance, I take it?”  
“Of course I do.”  
“And you will need a partner.”  
Sherlock groaned.  
“Well you can’t very well dance by yourself; you’d look ridiculous. Dance with Miss Irene; you’re already introduced.”  
-  
The next day, Sherlock prepared for the ball. Truthfully, he did rather enjoy dancing, but he just wished he didn’t have to do it with a partner, as that made it a social activity, which was something he wasn’t really fond of. Mycroft was also getting ready, but he most likely wouldn’t be dancing, which to Sherlock, was extremely unfair.  
The Watsons’ carriage arrived right on time, much to Mycroft’s satisfaction. They climbed in and were greeted by John Watson, Mary Morstan and Miss Irene. The carriage ride only took around fifteen minutes; they walked inside together and the mingling began. Sherlock stood around the edge of the dance floor for a while before Mycroft nagged him to ask Miss Irene to dance. He found her in the crowd and cleared his throat to get her attention.  
“Could I have this dance?” he asked.  
“You may.” She smiled, and he took her hand.  
They joined the other dancers and although Sherlock didn’t speak a word, Irene kept staring at him, looking delighted. Any other man would have thought she looked very pretty, but Sherlock wasn’t one to notice beauty. She was wearing a pale green gown, with her hair tied back, her dark brown curls dangling down her back. She moved gracefully while dancing, never taking her eyes off her partner. Sherlock stared back, but not with admiration or delight, just a plain stare which he often had when he was concentrating. It was obvious she was attracted to him, and it was for this reason that Sherlock hoped she didn’t assume anything of him asking her to dance. He was not trying to court her, only trying to please his brother.  
When the dance finished, Sherlock bowed, then returned to Mycroft.  
-  
John had just finished dancing with Mary when he left the dance floor to get a drink for him and Mary. He passed by the Holmes brothers who were in conversation.  
“What are your thoughts on Miss Irene?” Mycroft Holmes asked conversationally.  
“She’s not good enough to tempt me.” Sherlock Holmes replied.  
John had half a mind to speak up about this rudeness, but he decided against it. He fetched two drinks and remarked to himself that Sherlock Holmes was the rudest, most unsociable person he’d ever met.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait; Ive started school again after my summer holidays, and it's been draining all the energy out of me.  
> This is one of those chapters that makes me go "ugh". I don't like it, but it's needed as part of the story, so here it is.

Sherlock slept for longer than what would be considered acceptable; the events from the previous night had worn him out. There was also the fact that sleeping longer made the day pass quicker too, which was a good thing in Sherlock’s eyes. He finally went down for breakfast at about ten thirty, instructing one of the maids to bring him something to eat.  
“Sleeping so far into the day isn’t decent.” Mycroft always seemed to have an introductory comment as he entered a room.  
“I’ll do as I please.” Sherlock stretched out of the chair.  
He received a dangerous look from his brother.   
“I have invited Miss Irene and Mr Watson for luncheon today, so don’t eat too much now.”  
Sherlock sighed deeply as he stared outside. The sky was dark and rain pattered against the long window.  
“It would be greatly appreciated if you informed the Watsons that I have absolutely no interest in Miss Irene and to be frank, no interest in any of the family; and that all invitations and such come from you and you alone.”  
“I imagine you would appreciate that.” Mycroft smirked to himself.  
“You’re intolerable.” Sherlock got up and left for the drawing room, planning to find a mildly interesting novel to read.  
-  
About two hours later while in the drawing room, Sherlock saw through the window, none other than John Watson, on horseback, riding in the rain.   
The man has a death wish. Sherlock thought to himself. He put away his novel and made his way to the foyer so he could let the man inside himself. John Watson was about to use the door knocker when Sherlock pulled the door open, revealing a surprised look on Mr Watson’s face.  
“Hello.” He said, water dripping from his hair.  
“What on Earth were you thinking?” Sherlock replied abruptly.  
“To be quite honest with you, I don’t think I was thinking at all.”  
Sherlock silently agreed and gestured for Mr Watson to come inside. Mycroft soon joined them.  
“Good gracious, you’re going to catch a cold! I can have the servants fetch you some dry clothes.” He said, looking Mr Watson up and down.  
“No, it’s quite alright.” Mr Watson objected, but Mycroft was hearing none of it.  
“Who’s clothes?” Sherlock muttered in his brother’s ears.  
“Yours.”  
Sherlock looked at Mr Watson. He would look ridiculous wearing Sherlock’s clothes. The man was about a foot shorter than him.  
“I suppose you’re wondering where Irene is.” John remarked. “I’m afraid, much to her dismay, she had already committed to a prior engagement.”  
“We can easily arrange another time.” Mycroft smiled in reply.  
Sherlock and Mycroft waited in the drawing room while Mr Watson was changing. After some time, the man entered the drawing room looking rather amusing. The jacket he was wearing was too long, the trouser legs were rolled up at the bottom and his hair now looked rather stringy. Sherlock smirked to himself. Mr Watson noticed.  
“I feel rather-”  
“Dry, I imagine.” Sherlock suggested.  
“Yes…” Mr Watson gave him an odd sideways look before sitting down.  
Sherlock stared at Mr Watson as he sat down. Mycroft started a conversation with him and Mr Watson gave prompt replies, but he did notice the attention from the other Mr Holmes. He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable when Sherlock finally spoke.  
“Are you feeling alright, Mr Watson?” he asked.  
“Yes, I’m quite alright.”  
“Are you sure?” Sherlock stared at him even harder.  
“Well, I have felt a bit odd since I got here.” Mr Watson wiped his glistening forehead.  
“I think we can say that riding here on a day like today was a rather unintelligent thing to do.” Sherlock stated. “However you are clearly unwell.”  
“I should get back.” Mr Watson remarked.  
“You’re in no state to go back now, you are too unwell. You must stay here.” Mycroft insisted. “I will go and inform your mother and father of your condition, and let them know you will be staying until you recover.”  
Mr Watson sighed in defeat. Sherlock told one of the servants to make up a bed up and prepare some cold water for the sick Mr Watson.  
-  
Mr Watson got worse as the day went on, but Sherlock tended to him, dabbing a wet cloth at his forehead. The Watsons had insisted on seeing John as soon as they heard the news, but Mycroft had convinced them to wait until the next day, when he had had some time to recover. As the night went one, Mr Watson managed to get some sleep, even if it was disturbed. Sherlock sat by the bed with his novel, occasionally looking up from the pages to check on his patient.  
-  
The next day, Miss Irene came to visit her brother. She sat by him for some time, speaking to him, even though he couldn’t hear. As she was leaving, she thanked the Holmes brothers, and told Sherlock that he was a ‘forever in his debt’ for looking after John. Sherlock was taken aback by this but accepted the thanks humbly.   
The next morning, Mr Watson was well enough to go home, and he changed back into his original clothes which had been washed and dried. He had breakfast with Holmes’ after he’d insisted that he didn’t need to eat his breakfast in bed. Mycroft arranged for the carriage to be brought round to take Mr Watson home. Sherlock walked Mr Watson out to the carriage to see him off. Just before he climbed into the carriage, he turned to Sherlock.  
“I just want to say thank you for everything you did for me. I made a very stupid decision and I’m afraid I burdened you with the consequences. I am sincerely grateful.”  
Sherlock didn’t quite know how to respond to this. “You’re very welcome, Mr Watson.” He replied awkwardly.  
“Please, call me John.”  
“Then call me Sherlock.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the long wait; school has left me exhausted and uninspired. I am very relieved I managed to do this chapter. I have been worrying about this story a lot to be honest. Let's hope I can pull through and finish it.  
> I very much appreciate comments and I thank everyone who has commented and left kudos.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Sherlock didn’t quite understand how dabbing a man’s forehead for a day could get two people on first name terms, but there he was, now able to call young Mr Watson from Knightly Estate his first name: John. It was such a boring name.  
“You managed to make a friend, and you weren’t even trying.” Mycroft commented at breakfast the next day.  
“Are you jealous?” Sherlock asked snidely.   
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
Sherlock smirked to himself and finished the last of his tea. He fetched his hat and went outside to go for a walk when he was met by John Watson on horseback.  
“Good morning, Sherlock.” John tilted his hat.  
“Morning,” Sherlock was puzzled. He wasn’t aware that Mycroft had given out any more invitations.  
“I hope you don’t mind me coming around, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come for a ride, and visit the estate for luncheon.” John smiled.  
“If this is some kind of ‘thank you’ for the past two days, you needn’t bother, I-”  
“Don’t be daft, I want you to come.”  
Sherlock thought for a moment. “Alright.” He said finally, and he headed back inside to tell the servants to prepare a horse, and ready his riding clothes.  
Several minutes later, Sherlock came back outside in his riding gear and climbed on his horse.  
“Lead the way.” He said to John, and they were off.  
They galloped in silence for a while through a small wood and green fields until John initiated conversation.  
“So I suppose you’ve seen your fair share of corpses then?”  
This was not the conversation starter Sherlock was expecting, but it was far better than the usual small talk.  
“I’ve seen many.”  
“Any unsolved cases?”  
“Not if I’m involved.”  
“You’re awfully sure of yourself.”  
“I have a right to be.”  
“Why is that?”  
“I’m extremely clever.”  
“Is that so? Prove it.” John challenged.  
Sherlock brought his horse to a halt. John followed and they both stopped and stepped onto the ground. Sherlock stood with his hands clasped behind his back, standing up straight. He cleared his throat.  
“You didn’t sleep very well last night, as you are indeed recovering from your illness but there are still some effects. You spent most of the night tossing and turning; because of this, you got up this morning before everyone else and decided you’d fancy going for a ride. I can tell that this morning your horse wasn’t prepared by the servant who usually does it, but by someone with not much experience. Perhaps the usual man is ill or has had to leave to take care of a sick family member. I also know that your family is sceptical of me, and your so called ‘friendship’ with me, as they find my hobbies inappropriate. It’s likely that they worry I’ll expose you to something you ought not to be exposed to in their eyes, such as a crime scene, or even a body. Even though you expressed your thoughts of such an endeavour being inappropriate, I think you long for a bit of adventure; a bit of action. You are not so unlike me in the sense that you find normal life extremely boring, because really, being very wealthy leaves you with nothing to do except pretend you’re glad to meet people who you really don’t give a damn about and go to luncheon and take tea in the drawing room and smile and fake laugh and make small talk until you finally get to go to bed only to realise that you have to do all the same things tomorrow.”  
“Well… that was quite amazing; and enlightening. I thought the saddle didn’t feel right…” John smirked.  
Sherlock half-smiled. “My deductions are much more interesting at a crime scene.”  
“Well, you know how I feel about attending a crime scene.” John grinned.  
“I’m sure something could be arranged.”  
“I want there to be a corpse, mind you.”  
“Certainly.”  
John turned his horse around. “Let’s go to the house. I think it’s about time for lunch.”  
-  
After sitting through a lunch filled with small talk, John decided he was to show Sherlock around the estate. John led Sherlock out into the gardens when Irene caught up to them.  
“Hello.” She smiled at Sherlock.   
He turned. “Hello.”  
“Are you well?”  
“I’m fine.” Sherlock looked to John for assistance, but he didn’t notice.  
“I know mamma wouldn’t like it much, but I would like to come on a case with you one day. I do get rather bored here, not that I can tell my aunt that.”  
“I think if your mother doesn’t like it then I cannot oblige.”  
Irene frowned.  
“I’m just going to head back inside to fetch my hat. I’ll be back in a moment.” Sherlock walked away quickly, hoping John would sort out his cousin by the time he got back.  
“Why is he being so unpleasant?” Irene asked John.  
“I think that was a very reasonable thing for him to say. If mother found out, she’d be furious, and would probably ban both of us from ever seeing Sherlock again.”  
“If he was any other man he would take me somewhere.” Irene huffed.  
“Why’s that?” John inquired.  
“All the others did. They would do anything I liked if they thought it would win me over.”  
“But they never did.” John added.  
“Why does he talk to you so much anyway? You’re not interesting, and I’m a woman; he should be courting me.”  
John rolled his eyes. “You are ridiculous. You sound like a spoilt child. Go back inside and leave Sherlock and I alone. I invited him over to show him around the estate, and I can’t do that if you’re on our tails the whole time.”  
Irene glared, but did what she was told. John couldn’t believe the nerve of that woman.  
Moments later, Sherlock joined John in the garden once more. They did a lap around the estate’s grounds, which were quite large. They then headed back inside and John led Sherlock down to the end of the house he’d never been in.  
“My father is a bit of an antique collector,” John explained as he led Sherlock down the hall. “He collects firearms mostly, but he also likes strange-looking contraptions and odd things; although they are quite hard to come by.”  
John pushed open a door and led Sherlock into a large room, which was full of items. There were about twenty or more different types of firearms in glass cases, and there were shelves lined with spyglasses, cameras and even a microphone.  
“This is my favourite room in the house. I like to read in here sometimes.” John gazed around the room fondly.  
“Has he ever used any of these?” Sherlock asked, running a finger across one of the cameras.  
“I’m not sure. I could ask him. If I’m very lucky, he might let me have a go with it.”  
“These need dusting.” Sherlock rubbed his fingers together to remove the dust.  
“Ah yes, father doesn’t like the servants to dust in here; he’s worried they’ll break something. He does it himself every few weeks usually.”  
John led Sherlock out of the room of curiosities and back into the garden to his horse.  
“Do you want me to accompany you on the journey home?” John asked.  
“No, that’s quite alright; I know the way.”   
Sherlock made sure his hat was firmly on. He gave John a nod and what was supposed to be a polite smile, and rode off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write another chapter over a few nights (hooray!)  
> I just want to say that over the previous few parts there have been some historical inaccuracies, which I am working on correcting so I do apologise for changes in the way the characters refer to one another etc.

John buttered his toast before taking a loud bite.  
“I don’t know what you see in young Mr Holmes, John; he seems such an unpleasant man.” Mrs Watson expressed.  
“I admit he did seem unpleasant at first, but upon further acquaintance, I find I rather like him.”  
“I think this is good for John, he has very few friends, apart from Miss Morstan of course.” Mr Watson gave John a mischievous smile.  
“You should call on Miss Morstan, John. You don’t want to let her think you do not like her.” Mrs Watson suggested.  
“I’m sure she wouldn’t think that.”  
“Yes, John,” Irene interrupted. “You should go and see her. She is such an agreeable woman.”  
John looked from his mother to his cousin suspiciously. “Alright, I will call on her today. I suppose I don’t have any other plans.”  
“Very good!” Mrs Watson explained. “It shan’t be long until you two are married!”  
“Mother, please. I have not proposed just yet.” John wiped his mouth with his napkin before excusing himself from the table.  
Not long after breakfast, John left on foot to call on Miss Morstan. Immediately after he walked out the door, Irene approached her aunt.  
“I wondered if we might invite Mr Holmes to luncheon today.”  
“I think it’s a bit late to invite him to luncheon, dear; perhaps for dinner?” Mrs Watson suggested.  
“I’ll write to him at once.”  
-  
Sherlock played his violin serenely in the drawing room. He hadn’t played it for quite some time and decided to write a new piece of music.  
“A letter for Mr Holmes.” A servant entered the drawing room and handed Sherlock the envelope.  
“Thank you.” He said, opening the letter.

_Mr Holmes,_  
Please join us for dinner tonight at Knightly Estate. We desire your company and would be delighted to have you.  
Irene Adler. 

Sherlock pocketed the letter and continued with his composition.  
-  
“Mr Holmes, so glad you could make it.” Irene smiled seductively upon Sherlock’s arrival.  
“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.” Sherlock said absently, searching the room, as there was one person missing.  
“Oh, John is not here. He is calling on Miss Morstan at present.” Irene smiled sweetly.  
“Oh.” Sherlock replied. The only reason he’d come was because he’d thought John would be there. He’d know better the next time an invitation was written by Miss Adler.  
The dinner wasn’t particularly pleasant. The food was good but the conversation was scarce and only consisted of Irene asking too many question and Mrs Watson asking few to try to ease the awkwardness. It was obvious Mrs Watson did not have a good opinion of him and Mr Watson was quite indifferent. After dinner, the party took tea in the drawing room. Unfortunately the armchair was reserved for Mr Watson, so Sherlock sat on the sofa where Irene sat next to him. Sherlock brought the tea to his lips and closed his eyes in a brief moment of comfort before Irene interrupted it.  
“Will you be staying long at Crowley Estate, Mr Holmes; or will you be returning to London soon?” she asked, staring intently.  
“I am hoping to return to London quite soon, but for now it seems I am stuck here.” Sherlock replied.  
How he longed for London again; the polluted air and the dirty streets and the crime; oh the crime; it was absolutely everywhere, and it was thrilling.  
“Stuck here?” Mrs Watson interjected. “Do you find the country disagreeable?”  
Sherlock thought quickly. He has caused offence. “No; of course not, I just… miss the house in London.”  
Sherlock cringed to himself. _Missed the house?_ What a joke of an excuse. Mrs Watson gave a disapproving look before turning to gaze at the fire. Sherlock took another sip of his tea. Irene leaned closer to him.  
“I rather think you miss your job.” She said quietly.  
Sherlock looked up at her. “You are quite right.”  
“Hello, sorry I’m back so late, but Miss Morstan insisted I stayed for dinner.”  
Sherlock stood up quickly at the voice. John stood at the drawing room door. When he spotted Sherlock he looked surprised.  
“Sherlock! I didn’t know you were coming for dinner today.”  
“Neither did I until this afternoon.” Relief at last, Sherlock thought, as all conversation since the moment he arrived had been dull and rather mentally painful to endure.  
“Well, come and take a turn with me in the garden and I can tell you all about Miss Morstan.” John smiled.  
Sherlock followed him immediately leaving his cup of unfinished tea.  
The garden looked very different at night, but there was something very serene about it.  
“Are you alright?” John asked.  
“Never have I felt so much relief to see a certain person in my life.”  
John chuckled. “That bad, was it?”  
“I only came because I thought you’d be here. Your mother doesn’t like me by the way.”  
“I am sorry, my friend, but as I said before, I had no idea. However it does explain why Irene was so eager for me to call on Miss Morstan this morning.”  
“Well her plan succeeded, but would you be so kind as to ensure it never happens again?”  
John laughed again. “I will. From now on, you should only accept invitations written by myself.”  
“I should go.” Sherlock stated. “I am rather tired.”  
“Oh, alright; I’ll fetch the carriage.”  
The carriage came around and to be truthful Sherlock was quite glad to climb in it and return to the estate. He longed for a lone cup of tea and to play his violin, both of these things he could not do if he remained. John wished him good night and returned inside. He had a hot cup of tea before heading back towards the now empty drawing room where he was going to read for a bit before going to bed. He turned the corner into the hall and felt a hand grasp his arm firmly. He turned to fine Irene glaring at him fiercely.  
“You will not ruin this for me, John Watson.” She whispered hoarsely.  
“What?”  
“I am not so lucky as you. I was not left with a fortune. I don’t have a penny to my name. I rely on a good match. I _will_ have Sherlock Holmes and if you do anything to prevent me from having him I will make sure you’ll regret it.”  
John was so shocked he remained silent. Irene released her grip and stormed off after giving John a hard glare.


	6. Chapter 6

An otherwise dull and eventless morning for Sherlock was brightened by a single, short letter.

_Holmes,_  
I’ve got another case for you. Come to London as soon as you can.  
Lestrade. 

Sherlock leapt into the air, for his mind had been oppressed for far too long. He rushed to his room to pack a few things; most of his detective gear was left in London as he didn’t expect he’d need much in the country. He put on his overcoat and was out the door, Mycroft calling after him.  
“Where are you going?” he shouted from the sitting room.  
“I’ve got a case; finally, the game is afoot!”  
Sherlock instructed one of the servants to prepare a horse as quickly as possible, for he was paying a visit to Knightly Estate. John was about to get the excitement he’d been waiting for.  
Sherlock arrived at Knightly Estate and dismounted his horse quickly. A servant led him inside to the Watsons’ sitting room.  
“Mr Holmes.” The servant announced.  
Both John and Irene’s heads spun round quickly.  
“Sorry to intrude so early, but I wanted to ask John if he would like to accompany me to London for a week or two.”  
John met Sherlock’s eyes, and saw the excited gleam about them, instantly knowing what was happening.  
“Yes, I would like that very much.” John stood up, ready to leave as soon as possible.  
“Do you mean you are leaving today?” Mrs Watson asked, surprised.  
“Indeed today; this morning, in fact.” Sherlock stated.  
Mrs Watson sighed. “You may go.”  
John left to pack his things while a horse was prepared for him and Sherlock waited outside.  
Irene huffed.  
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about, Irene. There’s no way you could have gone to London with Mr Holmes, even if he did ask you. It would be extremely improper.” Mrs Watson said, not taking her eyes off her embroidery.  
-  
John and Sherlock arrived at Crowley Estate and the horses were returned to the stables. A carriage was prepared to leave and Sherlock’s belongings were attached, as well as Mycroft. Sherlock stormed inside.  
“You’re not coming.” He stated rudely to his brother.  
“Yes, I am. I won’t let you go to London by yourself and get into mischief.” Mycroft said, with his best authoritative voice.  
“I won’t be by myself, John’s coming.”  
John smiled awkwardly at Mycroft.  
Mycroft glanced at John before returning his gaze to Sherlock. “I don’t care. I am coming with you.”  
“Fine, do what you will, but you’re going in a separate carriage.”  
Mycroft pursed his lips. “Alright.” He sighed.  
Sherlock turned back to his friend. “Ready, John?”  
“Yes.”  
The two men climbed into the prepared carriage; Mycroft’s luggage now removed.  
“We will be staying at my mother and father’s house in London, which is where I resided before moving to the country. It’s quite a grand place, I suppose, and all of my lab equipment is there. I am quite eager to get back to it.” Sherlock said conversationally.  
“So what kind of case are we going to?” John asked.  
“I don’t know. Lestrade just wrote to me to say that he needed me, as always. I’m surprised I didn’t get a letter sooner to be honest. London must have been quite free of crime since I’ve been gone.” Sherlock looked down at John’s coat. “What’s that in your coat?”  
“What?” John shifted to try to hide the strange-shaped lump.  
“You’ve got something hidden in your coat. What is it?”  
John grimaced and pulled out a pistol.  
“Why have you got a pistol?”  
“I thought I might have needed it.”  
“You don’t even know what the case is yet.”  
“Which is good, because it could be very dangerous, hence the pistol.”  
Sherlock stared. “Do you know how to use it?”  
“Of course I do, I’m not stupid.”  
“No, I don’t believe you are; not as much as everyone else, anyhow.”  
-  
Hours later the carriage had arrived in the London streets. John peered out the window curiously.  
“It is very different here.”  
“You haven’t been to London before?”  
“No, this is my first time.”  
“I thought you might have gone with a friend before; isn’t that the kind of thing that friends do?”  
“I don’t really have many friends.” John admitted. “I was offered a trip once, but I declined. I find it to be more of an exciting prospect for the ladies, for their shopping and the like.”  
“I suppose… ah, here we are at the house.”  
The carriage had just pulled up at a grand house with the finest exterior John had seen. The driver opened the carriage door and Sherlock and John stepped out. Sherlock led John inside, to the stunning foyer with a grand, wide staircase leading to the upper floors. They turned right into the sitting room where Sherlock’s parents were to be found.  
“Mother, father, this is my friend, John Watson.” Sherlock gestured to the shorter man next to him.  
“So pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Watson; Mycroft told us all about you.” Mrs Holmes smiled warmly.  
“Welcome, Mr Watson. It is quite a change to have Sherlock home with a friend; other than that inspector fellow, of course.” Mr Holmes spoke from behind his newspaper.  
“Now that you are all acquainted, we shall be going now. Goodbye.” Sherlock smiled a fake smile before steering John out of the room.  
“They are quite different to how I expected them to be.” John remarked.  
“What did you expect them to be like?” Sherlock asked.  
“Well… more like you, I suppose.”  
“What do you mean by that?”  
“I expected them to be a bit more… rude.” John smiled to show he didn’t mean to offend.  
Sherlock laughed shortly. “Sometimes I do wonder how we could be related at all. Mycroft did used to joke and say that I was adopted, but I managed to work out that that wasn’t true.”  
Sherlock led his friend out into the London street.  
“Where are we going now?” John asked, jogging to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides.  
“Scotland Yard.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write another chapter, yay! School is a bitch, but I worked on this over a few nights to make it easier. I am sorry to keep you waiting, but I felt very inspired for a change and managed to write some more.  
> Also, I know some people make playlists for their fanfics, and I was thinking of making one for this fanfic when I finish it, as I've been listening to some music that I think would really suit the story. Is anyone interested in a playlist? I personally like them but I don't know who else does :P

Sherlock led the way to Scotland Yard and stopped by the doorman. “I’m here to see Lestrade.”  
“Right you are, Mr Holmes; he’s in his office.”  
Sherlock nodded in thanks and stepped inside. John followed into a cluttered office, in which a young man with greying hair sat at the desk.  
“Ah, Sherlock, you’re here.” He glanced over at John questioningly.  
“This is my friend, John Watson.” Sherlock stated.  
“Friend?” Lestrade raised his eyebrows. “Will you friend be coming on the investigation?”  
“Yes, he will. Now let’s stop with this nonsense and get straight to it; what do you have for me today, Lestrade?”  
“Have a read of this.” Lestrade passed over a file.  
Sherlock took it and looked over it quickly. “A mysterious benefactor… goodness, I’d be furious if I was Mrs Selwick’s son.”  
“What is it?” John spoke for the first time.  
“A young Mr Selwick has been given a rather large sum of money from an unknown benefactor, but his mother wants it looking into.” Sherlock closed the file and dropped it back on Lestrade’s desk. “Well, Lestrade, I must admit I am rather disappointed that you didn’t call me over for a good old murder, but I suppose it’s good to be in London again. Point me in the right direction of Mr Selwick and I shall begin.”  
-  
John followed Sherlock through the London streets. The young detective seemed to know the place as well as the back of his hand, and the look in his eyes as he looked about him showed that he adored it. They arrived at a middle-class looking house after about ten minutes of walking – Sherlock refused to travel by carriage just yet. They were led into a sitting room where young Mr Selwick was sat, looking rather agitated, next to assumedly Mrs Selwick. Sherlock sat down on an armchair opposite the Selwicks and gestured for John to do the same.  
“So,” Sherlock placed his palms together under his chin, posed to listen. “Tell me what happened.”  
Mrs Selwick started. “Well-”  
“Not you.” Sherlock cut in. “Your son.”  
Looking rather taken aback, Mrs Selwick remained silent. Sherlock looked over to Mr Selwick, waiting for him to speak.  
“Well, about two weeks ago now, the lawyer, Mr Briggs, came round to announce that I’ve a large sum of money now, which I am to use to help me into high society to become a gentleman-”  
“It’s ridiculous, he’s to be a doctor, which is a very honourable profession; he’s no need for this money and no need to be a ‘gentleman’ as they put it.” Mrs Selwick interjected.  
“Mrs Selwick,” Sherlock sighed. “Please leave the room.”  
“Excuse me; this is my house, I will not-”  
“You are disrupting my investigation and I cannot have that. You are the one who wanted an investigation, so if you would like it to continue, I suggest you do what I ask.”  
Looking utterly shocked and offended, Mrs Selwick huffed and exited the room.  
“Mr Selwick,” Sherlock turned to face the young man again. “Please continue.”  
“You see Mr Holmes,” Mr Selwick spoke in a hushed voice. “I think I know who my benefactor is.”  
“Is that so?”  
“When I was a boy, I used to go to a woman named Miss Temple’s house. She had an adopted daughter and we used to play together. I think Miss Temple was fond of me, and she used to say that her daughter, Diana, was to be a lady, and she was to marry a gentleman. I think she means for me to marry Diana, hence the fortune.”  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite an assumption, Mr Selwick, and I can tell you here and now, that you are incorrect.”  
Mr Selwick looked at Sherlock, confused. “Incorrect? But who else-”  
“Leave it with me, Mr Selwick. Everything will be solved in good time. I will be leaving now to begin my investigation. I bid you good day.” Sherlock stood up and John followed, stepping out onto the street. “I’m going to get some coffee, would you like some?”  
“Yes, thank you.” John walked as fast as he could manage to keep up with Sherlock. “How do you know that Mr Selwick’s theory was incorrect?”  
“It’s obvious; if Miss Temple was going to give Mr Selwick money, she wouldn’t make it a secret.”  
“Do you know Miss Temple?”  
“No, I’ve never met her. Here we are.”   
Sherlock turned into a small coffee shop. John looked about him curiously; he’d never been to such a place.  
“How do you like your coffee?” Sherlock asked before approaching the counter.  
“Milk with one sugar, thank you.”  
Sherlock ordered their drinks and they found a table.   
“I’m sorry if this is boring for you; I was expecting a better case than this.” Sherlock looked irritated.  
“Not at all! This is far from boring. I feel like quite the adventurer. You can tell I’m not content back at home.” John smirked.  
“Well, that’s good.” This seemed to put Sherlock at ease.  
A waiter approached with the drinks, setting them on the table. Sherlock immediately took a sip, cringing.  
“Isn’t it a bit hot?” John laughed.  
“Yes, I just needed some caffeine.”  
Sherlock waited patiently for his coffee to cool before drinking it rather quickly. John rushed to drink his too as to not keep Sherlock waiting.  
“Let’s go for a walk.” Sherlock stood up quickly and left the building.  
-  
Sherlock took John on a tour of London, pointing out locations of crime scenes for cases he had previously solved, and occasionally greeting homeless people as if they were acquaintances. The tour went into the night. The streets gradually got emptier and became almost silent. Light rain from earlier in the day left the streets wet; the streetlamps reflecting on the ground like golden orbs. Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a box of matches.   
“Would you like one?” Sherlock raised his cigarette in John’s direction.  
“No thank you.” John looked on as Sherlock lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling slowly in a long sigh. “Are you alright?” John asked.  
“I’m fine… it’s just… it’s nothing.” Sherlock frowned to himself, exhaling again.  
A few moments of silence followed as Sherlock finished smoking, dropping the cigarette on the ground and stamping it out.  
“My first case was just around the corner from here.” Sherlock started walking again, John catching up to walk beside him.   
They turned a corner into a narrow alleyway. “I was about fifteen years old-”  
“Mr Holmes,”  
John and Sherlock turned to hear the voice that came from behind them. The alleyway was dark, but a man’s silhouette could be seen against the light coming from the adjacent street.  
“To whom am I speaking?” Sherlock asked, trying to get a good look at the man.  
“You don’t remember me, then?” The man stepped forward, his face becoming slightly more visible.  
“Derwent.” Sherlock confirmed quietly. “Seems quite like you to lurk in a dark alley.”  
“I’m not here to exchange insults, Mr Holmes.” Derwent pulled something out of his inner pocket. A glimpse of light reflected off the object: a knife.  
John’s heart started racing. He looked nervously between Sherlock and Derwent.  
“This won’t do you any good, Derwent. You’ll just end up in prison like your brother.” Sherlock spoke calmly, but John could see his breathing had increased; he was scared too.  
Derwent stepped forward, his grip tightening on the knife.  
“Stay back!” John shouted.  
Derwent turned to John. “Or what?”  
John thought for a moment for what to say when he remembered. He reached into his coat and pulled out his father’s pistol, pointing it at Derwent’s chest.  
“Alright.” Derwent lowered his knife immediately, returning it to his pocket. He raised his hands in the air to show he meant no harm. “I’ll leave. You’ve got a good friend there, Holmes. You’re lucky tonight.”  
“I know.” Sherlock spoke softly, taking a step back. “Goodbye, Derwent.” Sherlock stared at the man until he turned and walked away, still looking back at the other two men.  
John lowered the pistol. His heart was still pounding. Sherlock looked at the pistol, then at John’s worried face.  
“Had enough adventure yet?”  
“Possibly, yes.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been a while, but I have good news. I have finished school! My graduation ceremony is tonight. I am hoping to spend more time writing as I have missed it a lot.  
> I have been unsure about this story, as I feel the writing isn't very good quality and I was thinking about stopping, but I feel that I need to finish it, because I have a bad habit of not finishing things that I start.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please comment to let me know if people are still reading!

Mycroft found out about the events of the night, as he always seemed to find out everything Sherlock did, and instructed Sherlock to take John and return to the countryside while Derwent and any of his accomplices were dealt with. Although he was thoroughly annoyed by this, Sherlock obeyed, as he knew disobedience would only lead to more annoyance from Mycroft. The next morning, Sherlock dropped by Scotland Yard to inform Lestrade that he would be leaving London, but would continue on the case from the country house, and correspond his findings via letters. The carriage ride back was rather quiet, as Sherlock was thinking about the case and John was still rather shocked by the events of the previous night, although whenever Sherlock glanced at him, John gave him a quick smile to show that he was alright, and that the two of them were still friends. When the carriage stopped outside Knightly Estate, John gave a friendly goodbye to which Sherlock gave a rather short reply. He was in his mind palace: a place he resided to when he was solving a case. When he returned home he ignored all his servants and went straight to the drawing room and slumped on the sofa. He lay with the palms pressed together under his chin, a crease in his brow to form a look of intense concentration.  
Mr Selwick’s assumption of Miss Temple being the benefactor was completely wrong. If her intentions were for Mr Selwick to become a gentleman, she would have said so and he would be a gentleman at this very moment. If not her, who? Where was the senior Mr Selwick? Sherlock hadn’t asked but he could tell from Mrs Selwick’s behaviour and body language that senior Mr Selwick was dead. The family was middle-class, so the money wouldn’t have come from a relative. Young Mr Selwick’s behaviour didn’t suggest he was hiding anything, so the money wouldn’t be a pay-off or gambling winnings. Perhaps he was hiding something, but just didn’t realise it?  
“Damn!” Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, and he jumped off the sofa.  
He scraped his hands through his dark hair and exhaled angrily. How was he supposed to close the case in a decent amount of time if he couldn’t even be in London to question his client? Letters would take days to arrive and he couldn’t stand the thought of waiting through that terrible process.  
“Wiggins!” Sherlock shouted.  
A few seconds later, a young, gangly servant entered the room.  
“Yes sir?”  
“Prepare my horse.”  
-  
John wasn’t ‘shaken up’. He was quite shocked of course, but he did not regret his visit to London at all. He had gotten a taste of the action, a taste of Sherlock’s world! How exciting it was, and it was all snatched away so quickly, and there he was, back home, in the boring old drawing room looking at a boring old book trying to think of what to do now. He hoped Sherlock was alright. John was worried he’d upset him, as silly as that may seem, but Sherlock wasn’t as friendly as usual when he said goodbye. But then again, Sherlock was annoyed. That would be the reason, but John just wanted to ensure him that he was definitely up for another adventure. Should he go and see Sherlock, or should he leave him be? He was so bored!  
“I suppose something went wrong?”  
John turned to see Irene standing in the doorway. He sighed in annoyance.  
“I don’t feel like discussing that with you.” John replied, looking back at the boring book in his lap.  
“He’s something else, isn’t he?”  
“Who?”  
“Don’t act dumb, John, I’m talking about Sherlock. He’s different.”  
“Well I should bloody hope so, I’m sick of the dull codgers around here.”  
“Don’t let mother hear you talking like that.” Irene grinned.  
“What do you want?” John asked shortly.  
“You and I do have something in common. We are both excruciatingly bored with our lives.”  
“Go and find another man to tease.”   
“I don’t tease.” Irene’s smile faded. “I test them. It’s all a test to see whether I could bear to marry them. But they are all the same, John. They go riding and hunting, they play cards and dance with the most beautiful women in the room and they act charming, but that’s just what it is: an act. Who knows what they’d be like once I was to marry them. All that charm would fade away and I would be his slave.”  
“You’re talking rather darkly, Irene.” John looked up from his book; he’d never heard Irene speak like that before.  
“It needs to be said. Married women are too afraid to say it, but I know. Once married, a woman has to tend to her husband’s every need; every desire, no matter what. I don’t want to be marrying just anyone, John. You think I ‘tease’ these men because I find it amusing? I am working them out. I have not found an acceptable man for me yet, except… I think-”  
“Irene, I know you’ve got your eyes set on Sherlock, but to be honest, I really don’t think he’s interested in marriage. He’s too involved with his work.”  
“I wouldn’t stop him from his detective work, in fact, I would like to be involved in it.” Irene’s smile returned. “It would be such a welcome change.”  
“You can stop fantasising about it right now.” John said, slightly too angrily.  
“Why are you so cross?” Irene frowned defensively. “Do you want to marry him?” she laughed.  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” John huffed. “I just mean that there is no point in you fantasising about it because it won’t happen! He has no interest in you, surely you can see that?”  
“He will learn to love me.”  
“No he won’t! Open your eyes and accept the fact that for once in your life, a man isn’t dancing around you just because he thinks you’re pretty!”   
Irene glared, before turning and exiting the room, slamming the door behind her. John exhaled loudly. He was sure to regret that outburst. Deciding he was finally sick of the same four walls surrounding him, John headed out of the house to go for a walk. He headed down the road towards Sherlock’s house. He wasn’t sure if he was planning on visiting, but he headed that way anyway. He thought about Irene. He felt obligated to apologise to her, but he didn’t want to. The things he said were harsh, but she needed to be told. Her whole Sherlock endeavour was fruitless and she needed to stop; for his sake… more for Sherlock’s sake though, of course. John was passing by the empty fields on the way to Crowley estate when he noticed a horse. It was standing by itself on the middle of the field, and furthermore, it looked like Sherlock’s horse. Finding this rather odd, John turned and walked in the field, through the slightly overgrown grass to investigate. Had one of Sherlock’s servants made a mistake and let the horse out? It looked like it has a saddle on though, so that couldn’t be right. Had Sherlock been thrown off and the horse run off by itself? John became suddenly worried. His heartbeat fastened and he walked more briskly towards the lone horse. He was just a few metres away from the stallion when he tripped over something and fell on his front in the grass. The horse whinnied as if laughing at him.  
“What the?” John picked himself up off the ground and turned to see Sherlock on his back, in the grass, not unconscious or injured, just pondering.  
“Hello.” Sherlock frowned questioningly.  
“Hello to you too.” John replied, still confused and a bit dazed from his fall.  
“Sorry I tripped you up. I suppose the long grass concealed me.” Sherlock said, still on the ground.  
“Yes, I suppose it did… what are you doing?”  
“I’m thinking about the case. I fancied some open space, the drawing room felt too cramped for my thoughts.”  
“Have you come to any conclusions?”  
“I have. I have come to the conclusion that Mycroft is an irritating git.”  
John chuckled. “I’m glad you said it first.”  
Sherlock grinned. “In all seriousness though, I will need to return to London. I need to speak with Mr Selwick again, and I’m sure I can solve it promptly.”  
“Will Mycroft let you return to London?”  
“Who knows? I’m not going to ask him.”


End file.
